


your laughter sings in a homely symphony

by spaceducky



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: A moment of angst, Dancing, Dinner, Gen, Hybrids, Music, butcher army what’s that, jokingly flirting, quackity breaks a mug, techno pretends he doesn’t want to be quackitys friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28742571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceducky/pseuds/spaceducky
Summary: Dancing with Quackity is very interesting to say the least. He stumbles over his feet, adds extra beats to fill empty spaces, and somehow manages to make it look like he wrote the dance himself. It’s entirely endearing and so authenticallyQuackitythat it almost literally takes Technoblade’s breath away.----Alternatively: Technoblade gets roped into having dinner with Tommy and Quackity while slowly letting himself feel happy with his friends.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Alexis | Quackity & TommyInnit, No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 248





	your laughter sings in a homely symphony

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very bad with dialogue and anything that involves plot progression outside of character study, so I apologize in advance...

There are thousands of different ways in which Technoblade had pictured himself spending his Saturday night.

From the corner of his eyes he watches as Quackity, the most loudest and insufferable human ever, talks animatedly with the other loudest and most insufferable human ever. 

This falls nowhere on the list.

Technoblade turns away, having no desire to engage in the two’s mischief. Letting out an annoyed huff, he makes a move to properly retreat. Despite the enticing and homely nature of the scene before him, he doesn't dare indulge in his own desire, let alone in the presence of _Quackity._

“Technoblade?”

_For fucks sake._

It’s Quackity, who has _no excuse_ to be so annoying. At least Tommy is an actual child, looking at him with his wide and glowing eyes.

“I was just leaving, what do you want?”

Tommy shoulders his way in front of Quackity to stand right in front of Technoblade.

“What are you? Scared of a bird?! C’mon Techno, the party is just starting!”

Quackity at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed. He can feel a headache coming on.

“Tommy I hate parties and I hate people,”

“Nonsense! Nonsense my man,”

He’s speaking so loudly little pieces of spit are catching on Technoblade’s face. It's infuriating.

Technoblade wraps his fingers around his little brother’s wrist and yanks his arm away from his body.

“Fine, just stop yelling, you're going to alert every mob in a three mile radius-”

“Yes!” Tommy comically pumps his fist up in the air before leaning over to sling his arm around Quackity, “We've got the Blade!”

Quackity excitedly claps his hands in front of him.

Technoblade looks away.

It’s not slightly cute. It’s not endearing.

Quackity’s eyes are _shining._

It’s not. Not at all.

Tommy somehow manages to rope him into eating whatever messily made food he and Quackity conjured up, and as much as Technoblade wants to blame it on the fact that he’s just indulging his younger brother after leaving him to Dream for so long, he knows it would be a lie. 

It’s a lie because for once the hot blood that courses through his body doesn't feel like it’s cartarizing everything in its path. He doesn’t feel like he's eating himself alive, tearing himself open and spilling over the floor, jumbled words and even darker blood burning holes in the smooth wood of his Arctic home.

From his spot at the table, Quackity pours salt over Tommy’s food when he’s not looking and Tommy, ever so the performer he is, eats it just the same. In response to Tommy’s spluttering, Quackity laughs and points, letting the joyous nature of the situation control his body language. It’s impressive, in a way that’s so painfully opposite to his own never wavering stoicism.

“Can you- Hey Blade, get a load of this guy!”

Tommy angles his thumb toward where Quackity is trembling with laughter in his seat and pulls an overly exaggerated face of anger while staring directly at Technoblade.

He can believe it, of _course_ he can believe it. How could he not? Quackity seems to do everything out of some form of genuinity, one that scares Technoblade and makes him apprehensive to get close.

Instead he responds, “you guys are so loud.”

Dinner progresses and the noise doesn’t quite seem to dwindle, a fact which is easier for Technoblade to pretend to hate than outwardly acknowledge that he feels like he’s glowing in it.

But he is glowing though. He can't help but bask in the abrasive sound of Tommy’s wheezing laughs and breathe in sync with the entirely out of sync nature of Quackity’s somewhat melodic laughter. 

The whole room is glowing.

The generally aggressive voices that echo throughout his head have steadied to a consistent hum, a pleasant one, that leans upwards towards the sounds of jovial laughter. It’s as if all the sharp edges of the world have melted down to smooth, rounded sculptures, depicting faces scrunched up in pure and unadulterated happiness. 

It’s a lovely singing in his head.

Even as the energy cultivated at dinner starts to wane, the warm and fuzzy feeling doesn’t. Quackity is leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, while he and Tommy talk in relaxed voices, providing openings in their conversations for Technoblade to butt in that seem to be too cultivated to his liking to have been completely organic.

Just as the lull in conversation starts to grow to a point where a content silence is sweeping over their minds, Tommy abruptly stands up and pats Quackity on the shoulder.

“Alright boys, I think I’m off to bed,” he raises his hand off of Quackity’s shoulder and waves to Technoblade before focusing back in on the smaller boy, “G’night Big Q, thanks for coming all the way out here.”

Quackity raises his eyebrows and tilts his chin upwards towards Tommy, “you better be grateful, child, it’s cold as fuck outside!”

Tommy whacks him lightly up the side of his face just as Quackity lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head, “of course Tommy, of course. Thank you for having me over.”

“Yea yea yea,” Tommy trails off as he wanders over to the ladder that leads to his basement and pauses, “Techno, don't kill the chicken please.”

Quackity lets out an offended squawk, wings fluffing up behind him, muttering words in too rapid of a succession to be deciphered.

Tommy’s got a glint in his eyes as ducks his head below the floor board.

That bastard.

“No promises,” he lazily calls out in response. Quackity huffs a laugh from his position at the table before standing up and stretching.

His bones audibly pop when his wings flex.

“So, Techno,” Quackity glances at him, giving Technoblade a moment to fully take in his laughter flushed appearance, “what now? Are we also going to bed?”

Quackity wiggles his eyebrows. Technoblade raises his own.

“I could just kill you-”

“No no no no no, Techno!”

His voice wavers off into a fit of nervous laughter that makes Technoblade let out an amused snort.

“So what are we actually going to do?”

“We,” Technoblade stands, grabbing his empty plates and moving closer to Quackity, “are going to wash the dishes.”

Quackity looks almost offended.

“Wha- the dishes? Are you serious?”

Technoblade stares him dead in the eyes, trying his best to cover up the amusement that wants to take over his face. 

“Do I look like I am joking to you, Quackity?”

“No no, I think- I think I would also would like to do the dishes.”

His hands fumble over the various plates and bowls on the table and a series of slightly anxious giggles tumble from his lips.

Technoblade lets out a half chuckle, “okay just don't break anything.”

Quackity turns around to fully face Technoblade, a bright smile stretching across his face and his arms full of various plates and bowls.

“No promises.”

The sly intonation doesn’t slip past Technoblade.

“Are you,” he leans against the counter, arms still full of dirty dishes, “mocking me, Birdie?”

“Birdie?!”

Quackity huffs, aggressively setting the dirty dishes in the sink, his wings rising upwards behind him. He crosses his arms before making eye contact with Technoblade again.

Technoblade watches as Quackity’s cheeks heat up and the smaller man averts his gaze.

“Whatever,” he mumbles, “just hand me the dishes.”

Technoblade continues to feed the smaller hybrid dirty dishes until they're all in the sink. Quackity is humming under his breath and it's a tune he doesn't recognize.

“Do you want to listen to music?”

The question has slipped past his lips before he’s able to apply the regular filter he has to his words, his brain having fallen equally as victim to the warm atmosphere as his heart.

Quackity looks taken aback, then like Technoblade has got three heads, before the biggest grin is stretching across his face. Technoblade almost wonders whether or not the skin around his lips will split and bleed pure, honey coated joy down his chin.

“I- Yes, of _course!”_

He barely even stops to turn the water faucet off, body practically vibrating in excitement.

“Do you have any discs on you?”

Technoblade nods his head and turns away to riffle through his chests on the second floor.

“Yes, I will uh,” Technoblade wipes his hands on the front of his pants, “be right back.”

He turns away, only catching the tail end of Quackity’s hummed acknowledgement before he can give the other man a chance to see the pinkish blush that's resting on his cheeks. 

But much to Technoblade’s dismay, the heated feeling in his chest doesn’t dissipate, not when he climbs the stairs to the storage room, fishes through his chests, chooses a disc, and to his embarrassment, not even when he’s at the bottom of the stairs, in Quackity’s presence once again.

He carefully slides the disc in part way, glancing back over at Quackity in the kitchen, before the bass riddled tune of ‘Strad’ rings out in the house.

He leaves the other red and black disc to rest next to the jukebox for after.

_Just in case._

When Techoblade gets back over to the kitchen, Quackity has this dopey smile stretched across his face that makes him want to reach out touch his cheeks, and his hands are covered in soap from washing the dishes.

“I like this song, good choice,” Quackity’s voice is light and layered with something Technoblade can't quite decipher.

“I can be full of surprises,” he puts his hands on his hips, puffing his chest slightly forward.

Quackity laughs, which makes the slightly exaggerated motions worth it.

“Sure, just didn't take you to be a music guy.”

Technoblade has to physically stop himself from mentioning Wilbur.

“Like I said, Quackity, full of surprises.”

Quackity chuckles and sets the half washed dishes into the sink, the clinking noise fitting awkwardly in rhythm with the song, and turns so he’s angled closer to Technoblasde.

He holds a soapy hand out.

“Dance with me?”

It’s shy, his voice sounding like someone who isn't sure whether they’re supposed to be singing or laughing.

Technoblade extends his hand out to grasp the smaller boy’s wet one.

“Do you even know how to dance?”

Quackity laughs, a warm and saturated sound that nestles in the base of his ears and glows. 

“I mean,” Quackity has a cheeky look speaking over his face, “are you offering to lead?”

Technoblade isn’t sure whether to laugh, splutter, or act disgusted at the implications.

Insead a somewhat messy combination of all three comes out, and with a quick tug he’s pulled Quackity closer to his chest, in all his soapy, giggling, glory.

Technoblade gives the smaller hybrid no time to adjust to the new position, immediately falling into a steady step pattern, his footsteps following in quick succession to each other. 

Dancing with Quackity is very interesting to say the least. He stumbles over his feet, adds extra beats to fill empty spaces, and somehow manages to make it look like he wrote the dance himself. It’s entirely endearing and so authentically _Quackity_ that it almost literally takes Technoblade’s breath away.

Technoblade can feel that the skin on the tips of Quackity’s fingers has started to prune, and the warm, foamy water drips down his wrists and sneaks under the sleeves of his shirt.

The melodic sound of Quackity’s giggling and the occasional stomping of his feet (which is _totally_ not partially intentional) carry Technoblade’s mind and heart forward. It's warm and lovely in ways Technoblade didn’t know anyone besides his family could be. But it's a different type of jovial; it doesn't awaken in his chest like it had always been there, and it remains just as exciting as if it had just begun. 

“Okay okay,” Quackity’s voice draws Technoblade’s attention back to the smiling face that had been ducked against his chest, “now….. Dip me!”

“Wait, Quackity no-”

There is a brief and panicky moment of _oh God,_ where Technoblade fears he’s going to be too late and the smaller man will fall.

Instead, Quackity is a laughing splutterring mess in his arms, being momentarily cradled against Technoblade’s chest in a messy attempt to salvage the romantic nature of dipping one's partner. 

“Oh my God- Your face, you,” Quackity lets out another laugh from deep in his stomach, “you should've seen your face!”

“Why would you even try to do that?! You have to warn me first,” Technoblade’s amused exasperation bleeds over into dry laughter that burns the back of his throat, “we weren't even at a good part in the song!”

Quackity just lets out another series of high pitched cackling laughter, his wings wavering and trembling with delight, as Technoblade continues to nudge him back in the direction of the dance.

As the song slowly peters out, the atmosphere lingers, just as nice and warm as before. In the fog of the gentile ambience, Technoblade can tell by the incline of Qauckity’s head that he's waiting for a new disc to be put in.

And who would Technoblade be to decline?

Technoblade feels light, like he’s on top of the world, as he glides over to the jukebox, delicately sliding out the pearly white and black vinyl and placing it to the side. He raises the second disc up, checking to make sure the correct side will lay by the needle, and pushes it into the payer.

Turning around, the reaction is immediate.

Quackity looks completely shell shocked, as if the floor has been tugged out from under his feet, his face rapidly paling. 

He looks like he's going to throw up. Or like he’s choking. Or perhaps like he’s about to keel over and die, right then and there in Technoblade’s kitchen, while the sound of horns play in the background.

“ _Chirp,_ ”

Quackity mutters under his breath, his hand abandoning its grip on the glass mug he was holding to instead hover over his mouth.

Technoblade lunges forward in an attempt to catch it. He’s too slow.

The glass shatters and breaks into little pieces at their feet, and the sickly sweet atmosphere is gone almost as quickly as it came. 

“Quackity?”

Technoblade is not sure whether he is supposed to reach out or not.

Then suddenly the smaller man is laughing. He’s laughing then suddenly he’s crying, his whole body curling in on itself, like a foundation no longer able to sustain itself against harsh winds as he slowly sinks to the floor. 

Pieces of glass frame his body. His wings are shaking.

Techonblade reaches a hand out and doesn't touch. He lets it hover, palms facing upwards.

It’s an invitation.

Quackity takes it.

Now Technoblade may not be known to have the most orthodox methods of showing affection, of communicating emotions, but this is _Quackity._ This is genuine and earnest Quackity, trembling in front of him while muttering out frantic and scared apologies about the broken mug.

His hand doesn't feel as warm as before, and the slightly sticky residue of soap that clings to his skin feels clammy and uneven. Kneeling down to the other’s position, Technoblade waits for him to speak. Something akin to worry and dread crawls up the back of Technoblade’s neck.

“I- I’m sorry I just,” Quackity looks up, wiping tears off his face with his free hand, “I just hadn’t heard that song in a while.”

Technoblade doesn’t know what to make of the embarrassed and watery chuckles that follow his words.

“I used to, uh- I used to dance to this song,” he looks like he wants to keep crying, “well once- I did once,” he inhales sharply, “with someone else.”

He looks guilty.

“We could dance to it?”

Technoblade doesn't quite know what he's thinking when the words slip past his lips, and the look of surprise that crosses Quackitys face is surely mirrored in his own. 

“Huh?”

“You and I, we could uh, here let me start it over.”

Technoblade rises to his feet, momentarily leaving Quackity, to slide the disc out of the jukebox and then immediately back in. When he turns to see the other man still on the floor, he's not surprised in the slightest, although it does elicit a painful tug in his chest.

He extends a hand down, his back arching in a mock bow.

“May I take this dance?”

Quackity laughs, a sound that much to Technoblade’s own embarrassment, makes him feel a whole lot warmer. A smaller hand reaches up towards him, letting the taller pull him up to his feet.

The sound of Chirp plays throughout the kitchen, and when the notes climb higher in succession, Technoblade dares to meet Quackity’s gaze. 

But Quackity is not looking at him.

His eyes are trained on a spot just past Technoblade’s torso, shining like unseeing glass orbs. 

A funny feeling pain shoots up through Technoblade’s chest. 

After all, it’s no secret who this _‘someone else’_ was.

Technoblade wonders if that's why Quackity was so scared of him, if in his mind ram horns became tusks when he saw him. He wonders if when he was told his wings were burdens, if it was easier to picture Technoblade dragging him down than his own husband.

Subtle percussion hums to life from the living room. Quackity hums and turns to press his face into Technoblade’s chest.

For a moment their feet stop and they just sway. 

Technoblade wonders what Quackity is seeing behind his eyelids, what he's feeling, what he’s _tricking himself_ into feeling.

He raises a hand from Quackity’s hip to rest in the middle of his ribcage, hovering scarily close to where his heart is. He can feel Quackity trembling.

The last ambient notes of the song waver in the air, hanging above their heads like dew drops ready to collapse in the morning. For a moment there's no noise and Technoblde can't tell whether Quackity is breathing or not.

Then the man puffs out a long and harsh breath into Technoblade’s chest and he tries his best to pointedly ignore the fact that the breath feels a lot like the word Schlatt.

His eyes flutter open.

“Thank you.”

A timid smile is toying at the corners of his lips, and a rose colored flush has started to coat his cheeks. He’s looking at Technoblade with such bashful earnestly he's momentarily rendered unable to think.

He doesn't deserve this sort of genuinity.

“No problem,” he lets out a short huff in an attempt to cover up the excited affection that wants to bubble over his lips.

Quackity weakly laughs, shifting in Technoblade’s arms but making no move to leave them.

“I'm sorry about your mug, I uh,” he looks over at some of the broken pieces, his nose scrunching up, “I actually feel pretty bad about that.”

“Nahhh,” Technoblade moves Quackity so that he's on the other side of Technoblade, his view of it now obscured by the taller hybrid, “I will just clean it up in the morning and blame Tommy.”

A sweet and short laugh fills Technoblade’s ears.

“Well I am feeling pretty tired, so I was thinking I could maybe stay here? It’s just cold and dark outside and-”

“Quackity,” Technoblade raises a hand in front of the smaller’s face, “of course you can stay here. I’ll bring out some pillows for the coach.”

Quackity looks down, anxiously fiddling with his sleeves.

“I actually was thinking I could maybe stay with you?”

_Oh._

The look on Technoblade’s face must match the shock that is rocketing through his brain because Quackity immediately waves his hands in front of Technoblade, backing up and muttering, “nonono its okay if that is like, too much, I one hundred percent understand if not-”

“Sure.”

Technoblade hates how giddy the smile that stretches across the smaller hybrid’s face makes him feel. 

“See! I always knew you just wanted to get me in your bed-”

“Quackity, I can and will throw you out-”

“Nonono-”

Quackity’s words dissolve into laughter, his body trembling once again, although this time in happiness, his wings puffing out in response to his own elation. 

Technoblade sighs and points towards the stairs that lead up to his bed, not even trying to mask his amusement.

Quackity starts towards the stairs then pauses, glancing back at Technoblade. The largest shit eating grin spreads across his face, making the slight red under his eyes look like an extension to his blush. He gestures up the stairs.

“Ladies first.”

Technoblade makes his way to stand next to Quackity, placing his hand on his lower back before pushing aggressively up the stairs. Quackity squacks. 

“You know I could just kill you in your sleep?”

Quackity laughs and scrambles up the first few steps.

“Ooohhh, kinky!”

He is going to kill him.

But when Quackity finally relaxes against his chest, feeling small and warm in his arms, Technoblade knows none of his theatrical declarations from before are true. Not when Quackity pushes his forehead into his collarbones and especially not when Quackity’s wings drape over them in the bed.

Technoblade sleeps in a warm haze, the usual voices replaced by Quackity’s abrasive laughter and behind his eyelids he feels the wind hum in pure and utter serenity.

He tightens his grip on the slammer hybrid.

This is okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! It’s the first not sad thing I've written. I'm sorry for any inconsitancy in the narrative, but I hope it at least made some sense :)


End file.
